


In Medias Res

by Tsuki



Series: Darkness Cannot Drive [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman Beyond, Batman: The Animated Series, DC Animated Universe
Genre: Age Difference, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-11
Packaged: 2018-01-24 07:15:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1596227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsuki/pseuds/Tsuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Jason Todd abruptly leaves Gotham, Terry and Superman investigate crimes connected to LexCo. But when the case has them cross paths with the Red Hood, Terry and Jason find they have some tension they need to resolve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Lucinda Luthor is a canonical character from the Batman Beyond 3.0 comic universe, for the record. A rare character who hasn't shown up in much media, but I couldn't resist the chance to play with her.

Terry tightens his grip on the Bat Wing's controls as the cold air begins to seep through the vehicle's seams. Even with controls thrumming warm through his gloves, he can tell that the temperature outside is dropping rapidly. He glances at the dashboard screen and winces. The numbers flash red: -25° C, -13° F. "Slag it," Terry growls. "I am not looking forward to landing."

 _[[Rewiring power from your communicator to the heating shields and the new layer on your suit should help,]]_  Wayne crackles over the speaker at the same time another voice adds, "You didn't need to come. I told you, Terry—Luthor is my responsibility."

Terry rolls his eyes and says to the air, "Of course I needed to come. Those RAGE dregs attacked Gotham. And who knows that Luthor's nano-tech focus is for… for all we know, she may have a whole army of nano-kryptonite-bots being developed. We're not taking that chance."

The voice is silent for a moment. The man known as Superman seems to contemplate this before saying over his Justice League communicator: "Thanks."

Terry nods, assuming that Superman can see him through the Bat Wing's hull. It had been Bruce who had insisted that he join Clark on this one, but Terry agreed about the risks of having the Kryptonian go alone. After the nano-tech fires, all signs pointed to Lex Co. and it's new head of operations, Lucinda Luthor.

Terry glanced down at the file still open on the Wing's computer. Lucinda Luthor. Age 26. The file's image shows dark black hair, shaved short on the sides with the back pulled tight into a long braid. Her ears are looped with the same neo-punk studs and wires that Jason sported when he was in Gotham. (That association only makes Terry wince a  _little_  now…) She isn't pretty exactly, but she is striking. Maybe "handsome" is a better description. Her eyes are burning and intense and her jaw is strong and determinedly set.

Lucinda Luthor had been largely unknown to the world before a few months ago… but then she had shown up at a Lex Co. board of trustees meeting unannounced and carrying a copy of Lex Luthor's last will and testament. As the only daughter of Lex Luthor, she declared, she was entitled to a significant role in the company. Sure enough—tests on the late Luthor's will showed a secret code identifying Lucinda and declaring her his heir.

The board had been outraged. Some had demanded a blood test. Some had simple railed at her lack of experience… not to mention her criminal record as a political radical and hacker. Lucinda had submitted to a blood test, which quieted the first bunch. The second bunch, well, they just mysteriously stopped complaining after one board member was arrested when his under-age pornography collection was "accidentally" emailed from his computer to the Metropolis police.

Paging through the rest of the file, Terry notes the signature that Lucinda uses at the end of all of her Lex Co. memos:  _"Man's mind is his basic tool of survival... He cannot obtain his food without knowledge of food and of the way to obtain it. He cannot dig a ditch, or build a cyclotron, without a knowledge of his aim and the means to achieve it. To remain alive, he must think." - Ayn Rand_

Lucinda had used her mind to achieve whatever she wanted for ages. Her FBI record had been extensive before Lex Co.—she had on several occasions worked with an extreme cyber-libertarian group to release and alter records in government databases. All of her manifestos (written half in code and hosted on underground cyber-clouds) railed about governmental tyranny and mankind's reliance on the welfare of meta-human heroes. Her essays spat a general antagonism toward any form of regulation, censorship, or other barrier that might stand in the way of the "free" growth of information or personal liberty. She was especially skeptical of the Justice League Watchtower and had—on several occasions—joined online conversations about attempting to hack into the heroes' mainframe and "s33 wh + d*r+ w3 c n f*^d" ('see what dirt we can find,' Max had translated for him).

Even now, Lucinda's anti-Justice League comments were sharp and voracious:

" _The task of mankind_ ," she insisted in one online interview, " _is to grow to the best state we can be. There must be great wealth for motivation and great suffering in order to keep us lean and hungry—and therefore driven. These 'heroes' simply weaken us. We rely on them to be caretakers. To be Big Brother—literally an eye in the sky. They say they're helping us by solving our problems, but that safety net actually keeps us caged—constrained, supple, and weak. Between the government and the meta-humans, how can we grow powerful? There's no place for it. Humanity needs an open and unregulated space, where the best and the brightest are free to rise to the top, to become a different type of superior, without being treated like infants by those who think they are of a 'superior race.' Humanity needs to celebrate its best and give them the freedom to excel, rather than hold up Kryptonians and Atlantians as poster children_."

Superman crossed paths with Lucinda more than once, Terry knows. "She has some of the same crazy ideas as her father!" Clark had railed at Bruce before they left. "And the same damn stubbornness."

After it became clear that Lucinda was likely involved with the fires, Bruce began tracking her communications and travel plans (as distantly as possible, he had insisted. You didn't want to let a world-class hacker know you were spying on her if you could help it…)

Last month, when she had bought the ticket to Tibet without any notice or record with the official Lex Co. travel department, it seemed like they had their lead. ' _Now we just have to find her_ ,' Terry thinks. He and Clark had been following Lucinda from the air for hours, but the woman kept going further and further out from the cities. Now, they're flying through freezing winds and over sharp and abandoned mountain tops. ' _Where is she going…?_ '

"I can see Luthor's guards," Superman's voice sounds through the League communicator. "They've stopped. I think she's reached whatever her destination is."

 _[[Do you have her location?]]_  Wayne asks before Terry has a chance.

"No. She's constructed a sonic belt which stops me from being able to track her heartbeat—or her guards' heartbeats either, from the sound of it. So, now that she's out of sight, I can't get a read on her. I think we may have to do this your way…"

"Crash in loudly and say hello?" Terry jokes.

 _[[Stealth would be better,]]_  Wayne responds, just as Superman laughs: "Sounds about right to me!"

As Terry straps on his pack and sets Wing to auto-pilot, the radio crackles one more time:  _[[Be careful. Remember to use the League communicator if you need to reach me—I'll be listening.]]_

"I know. Don't worry."

In prep, Bruce had discovered that the suit was able to hold seven degrees more heat if he rerouted the communicator into the heating system. Terry appreciates the extra warmth, but that means that this will be his first mission where he'll be knowingly radio-less and unable to easily contact Bruce. Thankfully he has a bullet-proof Kryptonian to watch over him, but still… ' _You're all grown up now, Baby Bat_ ,' a voice which sounds suspiciously like Jason's sounds in Terry's head. Stupid subconscious.

One last deep breath—and then Terry jumps into the cold.

' _Shitshitshitshitshit it's freezing!_  ' He lands hard on snow covered rock. He buckles over, catching himself with his hands. Terry takes a moment to chuckle and admire that the new insulation that Bruce put on the black suit is a whirl of silver and white—it looks like he has perfect camouflage against the rock and snow.

Only a moment of envy flashes through Terry as he watches Superman float easily down to the ground. He hovers, larger than life, in front of a small army of Lex Co. body guards.

"Where is Ms. Luthor?" the Kryptonian demands. His voice is strong and steady, whipping around them in the frigid wind. A few moments of silence pass as the men do not respond.

"They don't seem very chatty," Terry mumbles.

"I'll ask you again— _nicely_."

Terry notices that the snow under Superman's hovering feet begins to swirl, the alien's gravity shifting in preparation for movement. Terry also notices one of the body guards reaching into his pocket. Before a coherent thought even finishes congealing in his head, Terry lets a batarang fly, swiping a small gun out of the man's hand.

Then chaos erupts.

The guards all draw weapons—guns and some sort of electrically charged sticks—and fan out, some going after Superman and some after the younger Batman. There are about fifty men in all, and Terry has no doubt that Clark can handle his twenty-five—even if the Kryptonian is weaker against electricity, he is still near-immortal and has super-speed. But damn is Terry going to hate fighting the rest of them in this cold… oh well, never let it be said that the new Batman couldn't dance the same dance as the rest of the Justice League!

Terry unhooks his new collapsible bo staff, clicking the button to extend it as he whips it straight ahead. The staff gives him an advantage on range and his training with Master Chen thrums in his muscles as he pivots and deflects one guard's strike, then slams the staff forward into another. He feels the click of body armor, so he doesn't pull his strikes too much—but he still doesn't want to do lethal damage.

Terry can practically list the moves he needs to make as another group rushes toward him. Staff shift up, block a strike. Jab forward, break through the man's guard. Pivot back, block a third's punch. Sweep down, hit him off of his feet and strike hard against the side of the man's head to knock him out. Dodge the gun fire, strike forward.

Terry hears another guard's feet crunch snow as he charges toward him—and he's just about to turn and strike when— _BLAM!_ —the man falls back, his body armor smoking with a charge shot.

"What the f—?"

"Hey, Baby Bat." A familiar voice chuckles, the sound muffled from under a helmet. "You looked like you needed a hand. Nice suit, by the way."

"I had it, actually," Terry growls, turning toward the voice. "What are  _you_  doing here?"

Standing above him on a snow covered ledge stands the Red Hood. His helmet is the same glistening red, the white eye lenses practically glowing as they reflect the surrounding snow. No lightweight duster blowing around him this time—instead, his leather coat is shorter and lined clearly with a thick wool. His hands—still tightly clenching charger guns—are swathed in slick all-weather gloves.

"Saving your ass? That seemed to be what I was doing just now anyway." As if to prove a point, Jason raises his charger gun and blasts over Terry's shoulder, hitting another guard straight in the chest.

Terry shifts his weight and swings his staff up sharply, hitting a guard in Jason's blind-spot. "Like I said—I had it."

Jason tilts his head and snorts slightly; Terry can almost see him smirking from under his helmet. The guards are closing in and, without even speaking, Terry finds himself back to back with Jason, each holding their side of the perimeter.

"That's new," Jason grunts as he kicks hard against a guard's chest-plate.

"The staff?"

"Yeah."

"The old man thought I needed some range beyond batarangs." Terry clicks a button hidden on the weapon's side to unlock the staff's center. In one swift movement, he pulls the two sides apart, creating two long nightsticks—longer than what the archive-footage showed Dick Grayson using as Nightwing—slick metal in the style of  _yantoks_  escrima sticks. "And," Terry breathes as he jabs one stick into a guard's shoulder, "they're full of neat tricks."

"Looks like!" Jason agrees, laughing. "You better hold on to those, kid—I may try and steal them from you."

"Oh?" Terry growls, "You sticking around until the battle's done then? I just assumed that you were going to cut out before it was over, without telling anyone. That  _is_  how you do things, right?"

Jason is silent a moment as he ducks away from a blaster shot and returns fire. "Seriously?" he finally says. "You're trying to have that conversation  _now_?"

"Well, it's not like we have anything else we need to pay attention to…"

"Funny."

"Thanks. I thought so."

The two men are silent as they fight back against Luthor's army. Terry tries to count how many he thinks he's taken down—it seems like there should be far fewer of them by now! He pulled back from lethal blows, but several of his shots should have been fully incapacitating. But for every guard who falls down, another stands back up. The wave seems never ending.

"What the hell is with these guys?" Terry gasps.

"No idea!" Jason yells back. His strikes are harder and bordering on deadly, but the guards keep stumbling to their feet, a little slower but seemingly undaunted.

"Superman?" Terry yells over to where the Kryptonian seems to be fighting the same battle—trying to incapacitate the men without killing them, and instead having to refight men who should have been down for the count. "Any idea what these guys are?"

"I can't hear anything—not their blood pumping, not their heartbeat," he calls back. "Whatever Luthor used to shut out my hearing, it's thorough!"

"Or…" Jason hesitates for a moment as he blocks a strike. He holds the guards arm in a lock for a moment, silently pondering. "I think I have a pretty good idea what we need to do."

Terry looks over at the Red Hood questioningly and gasps when he sees Jason pull out one of his long, twisted knives. "No!" Terry has barely any time to think, let alone to move, as Jason plunges his knife into the man's neck and slices hard. Terry sees blood everywhere… but it takes him a moment to realize that it's just in his mind's eye, his expectations playing tricks. In reality, the snow stays clean. Only wires and sparks pour from the guard's neck.

"They're robots?!"

"Yep," Jason agrees. "Lex Co.'s finest. Took me awhile to notice the difference in feel when I blocked. They're almost perfect synthetic replicas."

"All of them?"

"No clue. But I bet a certain Kryptonian could help with that…"

Terry nods. "Superman, can you—?"

"Already on it," Clark shoots up into the air and hovers for a moment above them all, his eyes scanning the mountainside. "My x-ray vision shows that Jason's right—they're robots. Yes, all of them."

"Course I'm right," Jason scoffs.

"Shut it," Terry snaps. "Well, I guess that means we don't have to hold back."

"What it means," Superman declares flatly, "is that you two should take cover."

"Huh?" Terry looks up at the Man of Steel questioningly. "Why would we…"

Jason has grabbed him by the arm before he has a chance to finish and thrown him behind a jutting rocky ledge. Terry barely has time to protest before Jason is pressed up flat against him, pressing him into the snow, his own helmeted head ducked down as if preparing for an explosion.

Then the sky flashes red and an almost painfully intense heat spreads through Terry's suit, dancing across his skin like a light sunburn. When the light fades, Terry carefully pushes Jason off of him and looks out at the mountain side. The robot guards— _all_  of them—are nothing but charred remains, and the dark stone ground is smoking and slick with melted snow. Superman's eyes still glow faintly red with exhausted heat vision.

"Woah…" Terry breathes.

Clark lands softly, a god returning to the land of mortals. "What brings you out here, Jason?"

The Red Hood tenses up for a moment before responding. "There's been some major thefts in Japan. Medical research companies—mostly dealing with implanting human consciousness and DNA into mechanical formats. The nephew of a well-connected Yakuza was killed in one of the break-ins. He asked for my help in tracking down who was responsible. I have an agreement with some of the Yakuza in the area—we go back a ways. So, I agreed. A lot of leads have ended up dry, but one that didn't pointed me here. I was heading to a possible location when I heard the commotion you two were causing... What about you, Supes? Pretty far from Metropolis out here. And you too Bats—not a rooftop in sight."

"The nano-tech thefts," Terry explains. "They're connected to Lex Co. and therefore most likely to Lucinda Luthor. She booked an abrupt trip to Tibet this week, and we followed."

"Thus the Lex Co. robots," Jason infers.

"Right." Terry frowns, considering. "Any chance your medical thieves are the same RAGE guys from the Gotham fires?"

Jason shakes his head and sticks his gloved hands in his pockets. "No way. I know what fighting a mercenary feels like. They rarely give it their all—they're fighting for money and ultimately they know their lives are worth more than their job. The guys in Japan? I managed to tangle with one of them and, trust me, they're fighting for something else, not for money. They're fighting for something that they're willing to die for. And that's a hell of a lot scarier…"

"If Luthor had that sort of following," Superman frowns, "she wouldn't have had to hire the mercenaries in Gotham. Or use robots here."

"So… what?" Terry asks, his voice twinged with disbelief. "This is just a big coincidence? Our trip and Jason's are completely unrelated?"

"Hard to say," Superman sighs. "But one thing's for sure—these guards were intentionally meant to keep us busy. And they succeeded. Whatever business Luthor had here, it's possible she's finishing while we're here trying to piece this all together…"

.

If Lucinda takes the time to imagine what would be her 'ideal' room, she imagines sleek technology and modern art and silently efficient heaters. This place? It may as well be the furthest place in the world from that. The large oak door closes behind her, but the gigantic space inside is still achingly cold. She pulls her fur-lined coat around her more tightly as she gazes around the room, pulling her ear cuff slightly to activate her digital eye lenses. There—heat sensors pick up two bodies hiding in the rafters and three more hidden in the shadows of the adjoining halls. They are camouflaged by the room's dusty and ancient scrolls and a room divider etched in mother of pearl. Lucinda can't help but find everything tacky about this crumbling old temple.

"You've finally arrived," a raspy voice calls out of the dark. Lucinda jumps—her eye-implant hadn't picked up body heat of the speaker. The person's body temperature was low enough to be near death—almost a corpse more than a person. "You have what I asked of you?"

Lucinda holds up the data disc. "All here. And you were right—all signs point to the authorities and the so-called heroes thinking it's corporate sabotage. Except for Superman. He'll probably be keeping a close eye on me, wondering what I might be doing with the nanotechnology. It's going to be difficult for me do anything for quite some time—it is, I might add, a major inconvenience."

"That was expected and explained when you took the deal." The voice sounds like wind through dead leaves. Like the promise of death. Lucinda fights down the desire to shudder. "We wouldn't have paid you quite so much for quite so trivial a job otherwise."

Lucinda shrugs. "Just stating a fact. Now, I'd appreciate if you call off your men. I'm not handing this over to you while I'm surrounded—I'm not some loose end in need of tying up. I'm a Luthor and deserve more respect than to have your thugs slinking around."

The voice shrills out a laugh, which soon turns into a hacking cough. "These men  _and_  women are highly trained shinobi, assassins, and spies. They are hardly 'thugs,' Miss Luthor."

"Yeah, well, highly trained whatever, they still show up on tech scans. I'll stick with my robots."

"Indeed. You have your way and I have mine. Now…" a frail hand gestures—skin flaking from the fingers like birch tree bark—and the ninjas emerge from their hiding places and sit on the ground, legs crossed as if in meditation "…is that better?"

"Much." Lucinda hands over the disk, her teeth clenched hard as her hand brushes the other's seemingly decomposing fingers. She wants to be out of here. Now. Back in the warmth. Where she can wash her hands and hook back up to the Net. Away from this creature, this thing, this… this…

' _Business partner_ ,' the rational part of her mind reminds her. Her father dealt with equally despicable figures, surely. She just needs to keep that in perspective. The money from this little transaction will fund her signal-jam program and help continue cybernetic development for another year. Not to mention Superman being driven  _nuts_  over not knowing why she was (might have been—there is no proof, she's sure of that) behind the Wayne Tech and Star Lab sabotage. Pissing off Superman wasn't the goal of this transaction, but it was certainly a nice perk.

Lucinda's phone beeps, signaling her that the bank transaction is confirmed and complete. ' _Payment received_.'

"Our business is done," she states flatly. "I'll be on my way."

"I find it interesting," the figure wheezes once more, "that you seem to have no interest in what I plan on doing with this stolen nano research. Aren't you the slightest bit curious?"

"It's no concern of mine," Lucinda calls over her shoulder. She lets the door slam behind her and tries to tell herself that the chill running through her veins is just the well-below-zero weather.

.

By the time Superman locates Luthor again—he'd been scanning from the sky for nearly an hour with his x-ray vision, with Terry and Jason standing awkwardly and silently together on the ground—she is half-way down the mountain and clearly in no hurry. She appears equally unsurprised when Superman lands in front of her (and when a white-cloaked Batman and another unknown figure emerge from the surrounding snow).

"I'm assuming I have you to thank for my very expensive robots being nowhere to be found?" she sighs.

"We know it was you and your company behind the fires in Gotham, Luthor." Superman's voice is authoritative and it echoes amongst the mountains in a way that does, in fact, seem superhuman. Lucinda, however, seems more annoyed than impressed.

"Well, that's an interesting theory. And given that you don't have any proof of that, I assure you that's all it is. Theory."

"What are you doing here, Lucinda? What are you planning?"

Lucinda Luthor sighs, as if a waiter had tediously asked her to choose between canapes for the fifth time. "I'm sorry, did you purchase a major Lex Co. stock package? Were you elected to the Lex Co. board in my absence? No? Then I am not beholden to answer your questions, Superman. I am a private citizen and what I do on my  _vacation_  time is none of your concern."

"Seems like a strange place for a vacation," Batman growls. Lucinda looks up at the Dark Knight, one eyebrow raised.

"What can I say? I like being different. I plan on spending some of this week in China and India, and then heading to a tech conference in Dubai. These mountains," she gestures, "were merely a brief respite. They are filled with small beauties, temples, and isolation."

The Batman folds his white and silver wrapped arms across his chest. "Not so isolated with the number of bodyguards you brought along…"

"Can you blame me? I have a super-powered alien watching my every move. He drove my father to insanity and to the grave—forgive me for being protective. Oh, and by the way, those were very, very expensive. I'd love to know where to send you a bill."

"Those guards  _attacked_  us, Luthor!" Superman's voice edges with frustration.

"Really? Are you sure? That was not how they were programmed. Who— _really_ —struck first?"

"Er…" The Batman tenses, turning to Superman, his voice low. "Technically, I let that batarang fly first. The bot had a gun, but no one fired until the batarang."

"There. See? Who is the aggressor here?" Lucinda rubs her hands together, her breath frosting in the wind. "Now, I have a charter plane to catch to Nepal, where I have a have a very nice hotel waiting. Anything else you'd like to know, I suggest you contact my secretary or my lawyer." Lucinda's lips smirk, confident of her victory. "See you on the flip side, Superman."

Jason watches as Lucinda continues down the slope, Terry and Clark in frustrated silence beside him. "Well, that was fun," the Red Hood chuckles. "She seems like an improvement over the insane bald one, at any rate. Like her earrings too."

"Yeah, great, feel free to ask her about style tips," Terry growls. "Well, this trip has been a waste."

"Perhaps," Superman agrees. He is staring off into the mountains now, watching and listening, as if some final clue will appear if he just looks hard enough. "We know she saw someone in the mountains. We can ask Bruce to research who might be out there… but, yes, for now I guess this trip is over."

.

Terry feels the tension in high shoulders get tighter and tighter as he and Clark head back toward the cloaked Bat Wing. Jason is a ways behind them, he can hear, but seems to be pretending that he's going to break off at any second, find his motorbike, and head back to his own search for Yakuza-nephew-killing-thugs. Terry doesn't know what the Hood is waiting for—is trying not to read into the fact that Jason might be waiting for him.

The tension has traveled to Terry's throat now and he feels he shouldn't leave like this, can't leave like this. He has to talk to Jason, has to yell at him, has to ask, has to listen, has—oh, Clark is talking to him, isn't he? Slag it, need to pay attention.

"…really well, Terry. Your training looks like it's come far."

"Huh? Oh. Yeah. Thanks. Master Chen is actually going back to China next week—his daughter just had a baby and he says that, if I keep practicing on my own, that I'll be a 'great bodyguard,' even without him." He chuckles, trying not to glance back at Jason again. "Oh, hey, there's Wing."

Terry presses the button on his belt to lift the cloak. The full size and sleek blackness of the Bat Wing is now in view, on oddity in this mountainous snow. As Terry clicks the button to open the plane's top, he turns back, cursing to himself silently. "It… it was good fighting with you, Hood." He yells back into the snow. "Er, next to you, I mean. Despite other things, that was… nice."

The snow is silent. Terry doesn't feel like that adds any closure. At all.

It takes him another two seconds to make a decision. He presses a button and the Wing hiccups, seems to cough, and doesn't move. "Slag it!" Terry yells dramatically.

"What is it? What happened?" Clark is all blue-eyed concern, the farmboy side of him who wants to help and fix things shining through. This is the side that someone like Lucinda Luthor would never see, let alone believe.

"I think Wing was damaged—the robots may have gotten to her, or it's the cold. Either way, it can be fixed. I'll run a diagnostic, but it'll take all night."

"Even if you find out what's wrong, how can you fix it?" Superman asks. "You know, I could fly you in the Bat Wing back to Gotham so Bruce could take a look at it. It'd be a bit tiring, but it wouldn't be much trouble."

"No, no, this should work. If the Wing isn't fixed by morning, then we'll discuss that. But this—" Terry pulls a silver box, barely a few inches long, out of his belt. "—this is a self-repair program. It'll only work in some instances, but it should repair Wing if we let it run."

"Uh okay." Superman looks around the cold frost of the mountainside. "So, what should we do now?"

"Well, Jason hinted that he's got a room down in the valley, right? I'll ask him to get me one for the night too."

"Us. We'll need two rooms," the Kryptonian says flatly.

"You don't have to stay, Clark. I'll be fine."

"Oh no. I told Bruce I'd watch over you and that's what I'm going to do. Besides, I haven't spent much time in this part of the world—I wonder what kind of breakfast they have." Clark's face lights up in a smile. "Make the best of a bad situation, I always say. I'm going to run—well, fly—and get a believable change of clothes. You talk to Jason and start down the mountain. I'll be back as soon as I can."

The black and silver flash that is Superman bolts into the sky. Terry stares into the clouds for a moment, then lets out a breath of relief. As if on cue, there is the soft sound of glove-muffled clapping .

"Bravo. Seriously. Amazing performance. I almost believed that pile of absolute bullshit."

Terry raises an eyebrow as he pulls off his mask. His pack has two spare changes of clothes and he can pull some of them over his suit, he thinks. As he starts to pull on a jacket he asks, only somewhat nervously, "Was it obvious?"

"Only if you know Bruce's tech preferences," Jason admits. "He doesn't do self-repairing anything. He doesn't trust other people to work on his tech, let alone a computer program. But I doubt that Supes knows that. What was that silver box anyway?"

"A portable music player."

"Clever."

"Thanks." Terry takes a deep breath as he finishes zipping up his jacket and hiding the armor on his pants. Now he looks like a just-slightly-oddly-dressed hiker. He turns to face Jason, eyes sharp and determined. "Now… let's talk."


	2. Chapter 2

Jason curses to himself, but outwardly just shrugs, thankful that his expression of trepidation is hidden under his helmet. "What's there to say? I'm a jerk and an asshole—oh yeah, not to mention evil. Blah blah blah, feel free to hate me forever. Now, can we get to the inn and out of the cold, please?"

Terry frowns. "You're not evil. And... look... Jason... I just want an explanation."

"Can't always get what you want, junior. Now, again, can we just get going?"

Terry's eyes are a cold blue flame, his cheeks burning red both from his anger and from the cold winds. "Slag it, Jay! Do you know what the hell it felt like to walk into that empty apartment? That was fucking cruel. I didn't even deserve a  _note_? Or—even better—a slagging explanation face-to-face? What was so damn important that you had to rush off like that?"

Jason feels his hands tighten into fists. "I just realized it was a bad idea. Okay? That's it. End of story."

"What about it was a bad idea?" Terry's voice is softer, honestly confused sounding. He sounds young and trusting and hurt, and Jason can't help but curse to himself.

"How long of a list do you need, kiddo? One, you're a bat. I don't really have a good track record with that. Two," Jason holds up his fingers as he counts, his voice getting sharper, harsher, "you're barely eighteen. I'm old enough to be your pop, pretty face under this mask or not. Three, you're an eighteen year old who is barely out of high school and lives at home with his mom. How do you think that's gonna work?  _'Hey, Mrs. McG! Can Terry come outside and play, and then can I snog him silly?'_ And that's not even counting Bruce finding out. Or Barda or Supes, because that would be fun—I've always wondered what my spleen would look like outside my body. And last but not least: I'm a fucking villain, you idiot. As far as the League is concerned anyway, not to mention your boss. You saw me cut off Stan's hand, didn't you? And you still want to cuddle? Don't be naïve."

Terry is silent for a moment, his eyes narrow and cold. "Wow," Terry finally whispers, "you really thought of everything, didn't you?" Jason frowns at the flatness of Terry's tone, almost a hint of sarcasm below the surface. He hesitates for a moment before Terry continues: "And, when you thought of all of that, did you actually think about what it was that I actually was asking of you?"

"What—"

Terry cuts Jason off with a snort and a wide gesture with his hand, like throwing an invisible batarang. "I mean—Jesus, Jason, it's not like I was asking you to go steady or take me to the prom. If you think about it, I wasn't asking anything at  _all_  from you. All that bullshit you just spouted? That's on you. Guess what? You're hot. We kissed. All I thought was that we could kiss some more, maybe fool around a bit. That's it. I didn't buy you a slagging ring, you commitment-phobe!"

Oh. Right. Jason wants to bang his head against something really hard right now. He can almost hear Ducra's elderly chuckle in the back of his head.  _"Silly child,"_  she would say.  _"You hear what you want to hear. Instead, hear what is real..."_

"... It still wasn't a good idea," Jason says. The statement sounds lame and petulant even in his own ears. "But... look, I..." he takes a deep breath and grits out quickly— "I'm  _sorry_ , okay?"

Terry sighs, a bitter half-smirk ghosting across his lips. "See, was that so hard?"

Jason coughs out an almost-laugh, the sound echoing in his helmet. "Harder than you'd think. Alright—we've talked. Now can we get out of the cold?"

Terry nods and they walk together in silence. When they reach the bottom of the cliff and Jason climbs on his motorcycle, there's only a moment of hesitation before Terry slides onto the bike behind him. As Jason revs the engine, he feels Terry's chest pressed against his back and thinks, without any shadow of a doubt:  _Yeah, I'm screwed._

.

The inn, Terry discovers, is a simple concrete building with shutters painted orange and blue. When they enter, Terry is met with a burst of warmth as a fire burns in the main room, the heat spreading outward and embracing his cold face and limbs. There is an older man with tight wrinkles and warm eyes who speaks quickly and fondly to Jason, who is helmet-less now and who responds equally quickly in a language that Terry finds he can't quite place. The old man hands Jason a key and gestures toward a hallway. Jason laughs and smiles in return.

"There's a bit of dinner," Jason explains, gesturing in the same direction the old man had. "Hungry?"

Terry nods and follows the Red Hood down the hall and into a wide sitting room. Through a large window, he sees that the sun is setting behind the mountains, the sky a blaze with red and orange. "Wow..." Terry finds himself whispering.

"Yeah," Jason agrees. "You know, I always loved Gotham, but the grey and the clouds mean that sunsets aren't anything like this. It's something else, isn't it?"

"I'll say," another voice chimes from the doorway. Terry turns to see a grinning and bespectacled Clark Kent—or "Kal" Kent, as his driver's license now states. Clark, after all, was supposed to have been dead ages ago. Kal, if anyone asked, is a younger relative, just old enough now to have hints of grey in his hair. If anyone who had known Clark noticed that "Kal" has the same taste in plaid shirts and casual jeans that Clark used to wear on the weekends, no one (so far) had said much of anything at all.

"You're back," Terry forces a smile. "Get everything you need?"

Kal nods, his glasses shimmering in the sunset light. "All in my overnight bag. Sorry it took me so long—I noticed a cargo plane that needed a hand as I flew over Illinois. Hmm, what smells good?"

Jason gestures casually at the spread of plain white plates. "Carrots and potatoes, peppers, and yak tongue. There's usually spiced tea in the kettle too."

"Yak... tongue?" Terry tries not to show too much horror, but clearly he fails because Jason's face lights up in a taunting grin.

"Come on, superhero—can't take a little weirdness in your diet? Live a little; don't be a scaredy bat."

Terry raises his eyebrow, his own grin matching the taunting look. "Oh don't worry. I'll try it—what's the worst I could do? Freak out? Run off without a word?"

Jason's grin falters slightly and the two Bats find themselves in a tense silence, scooping soft strips of food into plates and not meeting each other's eyes.

"Um... did I miss something?" Kal asks, his voice dipping slightly deeper, into Superman territory.

"No," both Terry and Jason say in unison.

The three men eat in silence, Kal occasionally speaking up to ask Jason about the prayer flags on the wall or the average height of the surrounding mountains. The sun has set completely by the time their plates are empty.

"Here's your key," Jason says, tossing a key on a strand of string to Superman. "You're upstairs. There's a loft. The curtains here are thin, so if you want to get some sleep, you should head to bed soon."

Kal raises a very Clark-Kent-like eyebrow. "And you?"

Jason nods toward the window. "I think I have to take care of one more thing before hitting the sack. Terry—borrow you for a sec?"

Terry doesn't meet Superman's searching gaze as he follows Jason out the door and into the blisteringly frigid night air. "Ah, cold, cold, cold..." Terry winces and rubs his gloved hands against his arms. "Why are we out here?"

Jason opens his arms out wide. "Take a shot."

"What?"

"I said, take a shot. You're obviously still mad. So, kick my ass. If you think you can, that is."

Terry scowls. "You really think me beating you up is going to fix things?"

"You're a Bat. So yes, it usually seems to help."

"I'm not just 'a Bat.' Just because Bruce and Grayson and Drake and, heck, Gordon can't communicate their feelings doesn't mean..."

Terry barely sees a ghost of a smirk dance across Jason's lips before the Red Hood dips low and goes for a sweep of Terry's legs. The Batman gasps and jumps back, swiveling forward to block Jason's following punch. Two more punches follow before Terry grits his teeth and answers with an upper-cut of his own. Jason blocks low, and Terry hears a chuckle as he charges forward.

The minutes dance by in a blur. Punch. Block. Kick. Parry. Terry throws an elbow, which Jason grabs into a loose lock, allowing Terry to hook his leg behind Jason's and push them both down into the snow. Terry hears the wind escape from Jason's lips in a rush. He flips over and pins Jason's limbs, pressing them down into the snow—the impression of his body making a wingless snow angel.

"Feel better?" Jason half-gasps and half-laughs.

"Actually," Terry sighs, hating to admit it, "yes." The cold bites at his face and his breath escapes in visible puffs, mixing with the breath visibly panting from Jason's lips. They're both silent for a moment.

"You're right, you know... I shouldn't have left." Jason's voice is hushed, but it still seems deafening in the silence and the dark.

"Yeah?" Terry whispers back.

"Yeah."

"Well... if you want, you can make it up to me."

"Yeah?" Jason's tone matches Terry's, strained and subdued.

"Yeah."

The kiss is hard and desperate, nearly bruising. Terry's lips are chapped from the cold and he can feel the skin of his bottom lip split as Jason pulls him closer, as if to swallow him up, to fuse themselves together at mouth and hip. Terry hears the snow crunch under his gloves, feels the wetness as some of it melts into Jason's hair. He pulls away, panting. "It's really, really cold out here. We... uh... we should get inside..."

They go back into the inn, hands nervous and constantly brushing against arms and legs only half by accident. Jason unlocks his room and before they're even both through the door their mouths are locked together again, tongues slipping past lips, now gloveless hands searching under sweaters and pushing off jackets. Terry buries his face against Jason's neck breaths in the smell of him—underneath the cold is sweat and soil and the faintest hint of cigarette smoke.

"Fuck, Terry..." Jason's hands are on his hips now, pressing them together in a way that makes Terry moan in the back of his throat.

"I'm not asking anything of you," Terry reminds him, pressing his lips to Jason's ear. "Just... ugh... I just want you. Now. Yesterday. Months ago. I just..."

Jason shuts him up by kissing him again, fingers tangling hard in Terry's hair. "You sure, Baby Bat? Besides the very-real reasons this is a bad idea that I mentioned earlier, well, you do realize that there's a certain someone with super-hearing upstairs, right? Might be a bit awkward at the next Justice League pot-luck..."

"Uhhh," Terry half-gasps and half-laughs as Jason bites lightly on his neck, "are you seriously trying to talk me out of casual-no-strings-attached sex? Because, I mean, if  _you_  don't want to do this, that's one thing. But I'm all for it, so..."

There is no more arguing after that. Just hands and mouths and skin and heat. Everything Jason gives, Terry gives back. Any expectations that Jason might have had of Terry as a blushing and sexually innocent teen are quickly shattered by the unmistakable fact that Terry clearly knows what he wants. And has no problem being quite vocal about it—bossy even. With Jason's head between his legs, the sound of Terry crying out fills the room. Both men shudder, bodies slick despite the cold. As Terry pulls Jason to him again, he finds himself forgetting everything that happened. He just wants to stay here forever.

.

As the morning light pours through the window, Jason finds himself staring at the dark haired boy curled against his side. Despite his earlier panic, Jason finds that, uncharacteristically, he doesn't want to go anywhere right now. He brushes his fingers across Terry's pale shoulder, tracing a bruise that Jason had sucked into his skin just a few hours before.

"You're thinking so loudly, I feel like I can hear it," Terry mutters, sucking the tiniest amount of drool back into his mouth as he rubs his face against what he clearly has claimed as Jason-the-human-pillow. "What's up?"

"Hmm, just going through instant replays," Jason chuckles, threading his fingers through Terry's tussled hair. "And trying to not get too much of a complex over the fact that you have clearly had a more fulfilling and interesting sex life in eighteen years than I've had in about fifty... yeah, that's definitely mildly depressing."

Terry lets out a chuckle deep in his throat which morphs into a yawn. "I've just been lucky to have a few passionate and talented partners. Quality or quantity, you know?"

"Hmm. One of those being the illustrious Dana?"

Terry nods, shrugging one shoulder. "Yeah... with her it was always really intimate and close. We were good together. I really did love her."

"I bet," Jason sighs, trying to convince himself that jealously is both idiotic and useless in this context. "But some of those tricks I doubt you learned from Dana... not unless she's hiding something very specific under those skirts of hers."

"Ugh, not a mental picture I needed," Terry laughs, half-grimacing. "Is that your subtle way of saying that I suck dick like a pro?"

"I was being subtle?" Jason smirks, sitting up slightly to look more easily at Terry's face. "But yeah—Dana seemed to imply awhile ago that you'd had a boyfriend?"

Terry hesitates, a dark expression flashing across his face for a moment. "Let's just say that didn't end well."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Curiosity pokes at Jason's tongue: "Come on, Baby Bat," Jason mouths against his hair, "You tell me yours, I'll tell you one of mine."

"Hmm? Uh, well... okay." Terry pushes himself up on his elbows and closes his eyes for a moment, taking a moment for a breath, as if he needs the extra air to get through whatever it is that he'll be explaining. "His name was Charlie. I was fifteen when we met—he was seventeen. You see, I was sent to the principal's office for fighting, and Charlie was there for skipping class. We hit it off—Charlie gave me some tips about how to play on the principal's sympathies so I didn't get in too much trouble. He was crazy good at that... and no one at the school knew that Charlie hadn't just been skipping class; he had been out of school specifically to rob houses—the nice ones out near Garden Court. You know that area?"

Jason nods, remembering Dana's eerily casual comment:  _I don't know why you make me think of him—just a weird vibe I guess._ "Yeah," Jason admits. "I know Garden Court. I used to boost cars from there when I was about fourteen or fifteen."

Terry raises an eyebrow. "No kidding? It's a small world after all..."

"Don't you dare. That song will get stuck in my head."

Terry laughs, his smile thinning into a slight sadness as he continues. "Well, I kept seeing Charlie around and he kept paying attention to me. He said he liked my spirit—the fact that I wouldn't take shit from anyone and held my own in a fight even though I was so much tinier than half the guys I took a swing at. He started calling me 'Tiny Terry' and teased his other friends, saying that tiny little me had a bigger heart than all of them put together. He started bringing me along on jobs—some car thefts, some break ins. It was exciting, and Charlie just had a way of making it seem like nothing could go wrong. Like we were pirates or bandits instead of low-life punks—he had a real charisma to him. It was almost magical."

A heavy sigh pushes through Terry's lips now. A strange instinct causes Jason's hand to move suddenly, to thread his fingers through Terry's hair and brush softly down to the back of his neck. He can tell this story is going somewhere hard for Terry and he feels oddly compelled to make such a gesture of comfort (which, Jason realizes, the compulsion itself is mildly unsettling. Terry might not have asked anything of him, but here he is, getting attached...)

"After awhile," Terry continues, "Charlie's friends started teasing us. Charlie and I were always going off together after jobs—just to talk or hang out at the park. But the guys were clearly confused and pissed that Charlie kept wanting to hang out with me. They felt like I was stealing their friend, you know? And I was just some kid. So, they'd call me a little fag and ask if Charlie and I were 'boyfriends.' And they clearly meant the latter term to be as much as of an insult as the first. But, instead of insulting them back, Charlie just said, 'Yeah? So what if we were? It'd be none of your jerks' business.'"

Terry lets out a breath of a chuckle and bites his lip. "I was pretty shocked, you know? Later, I asked him why he'd said that. He just explained that the guys weren't going to shut up if he'd acted offended. 'Why waste the time and energy giving them fuel for the fire?' So... then I asked if we  _were_  actually boyfriends. And he just smirked that infuriatingly knee-melting smirk of his and said, 'Why? Do you want to be?'"

The blush spreads across Terry's cheeks now like the memory of a wave, rushing in then waning back. "It's kind of a blur of days and weeks after that. I lived with my dad at the time and he worked late, so Charlie and I spent a lot of time at my house in my bedroom when we weren't getting into trouble. I have a lot of really great memories from that time... it was new and scary and fun and exciting. But Charlie always had his mind on something else—something bigger. He heard of the T-Gang and their electronic hauls, how some of them occasionally walk away with six digits in creds. He decided that kids breaking into houses was small time and he wanted to join a 'real' gang. He asked me to help him with the initiation... and we were arrested immediately after we broke in. I was just turning sixteen, but Charlie was eighteen by now. He pretty much testified that I had nothing to do with it, that I was just some dumb kid he'd convinced to help him. I got a few months in juvee, and Charlie got three years in a full-fledged prison."

Jason sucks air through his teeth, remembering his own youthful fear of lights and sirens. "Damn."

"Yeah... we still wrote emails to each other and I'd stop by to visit at holidays, but... God, it was hard. Charlie told me that I needed to get over shit and just be a normal kid. Not long after that, I started dating Dana. And then my dad died... and I met Mr. Wayne. My life was totally different by the time Charlie got out, you know? I tried to help him as a friend, even got him a job at Wayne-Powers. But it took him only a couple weeks to use that job to try and pull a heist at the a Cerestone lab."

Jason raises an eyebrow. "Cerestone? That stuff is..."

"Dangerous and causes insane mutations? Trust me, I know. A canister broke and fell on Charlie. He turned into this giant, hulking  _thing_. It's kind of my fault, he's more of a criminal than ever now, and the worst part is that he's  _happy_ about it."

"Wait..." Jason sits up, frowning. "Your ex-boyfriend is  _Big Time_?!"

"Uh, yeah? Wait—you've met him?"

"Shit. Yes. He was working for a mob group in China last I heard. We tangoed once. Let's just say it wasn't my best fight—nothing like shell-hard skin  _and_  super-strength. God, I hate fighting metas. Jesus... that's... well, congrats, kid. You are officially a real Bat—ex-boyfriend mutated into a super-villain is definitely Bat-qualifying baggage."

Terry chuckles, snuggling back against a pillow. "Yeah? Glad something good came out of it, then. Do I get some sort of Bat-Baggage accolade? I think I'd like to hang some sort of certificate on my wall."

Jason laughs. "I'll get right on that for you..."

"So what about you?"

"Me? Well, I think that story probably tops most if not all of mine."

"It's not a competition. What was your first kiss?"

Jason sighs, eyes floating up ceiling-ward. "Teen Titans. Roy Harper. He was Green Arrow's sidekick, but they were already broken as a team. Roy... had some demons. I think we connected on that. I was about fifteen too. Guess we have that in common."

"Yeah? Okay... how about first blowjob?"

"Giving or receiving?"

"Either." Terry's grin is teasing and sweet, a kid at a slumber-party. Jason hesitates now, wondering what exactly to reveal.

"He went by the name 'Mozzie,' but I don't think that was his real name," Jason finally says. "My dad owed him and his boss money, but he was either back in jail or dead—I was never sure—and the guy had started harassing me and my mom. We didn't have much money, and what little we had she was mostly putting into her arm or up her nose. But the guy didn't care—he made a few veiled threats. Made it pretty clear he didn't have a problem with hurting her. So... yeah. I was about thirteen."

Terry is tense, silent. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked..."

Jason shrugs, not meeting Terry's gaze. "Don't worry about it—it was a long time ago."

They are both quite for a few minutes before Terry snorts, laughs. Jason looks over at him, an eyebrow raised in confusion. Terry just grins. "Do you want an award too? We can both get one."

Almost despite himself, Jason laughs. And then he laughs harder. And Terry is grinning and laughing too. And then they're kissing again, softer than they had the night before, more searching than passionate, more understanding than frantic.

This time, Terry isn't all that bossy. In fact, there's very little talking at all as they cling together, each breath and touch and movement a quiet comfort in the morning light.

.

Terry tries desperately to keep the very-obvious hickey out of Superman's eyesight, but it's probably no use. The man has super-vision after all. His only hope is that, at least for now, the Kryptonian's eyes are fixed in ponderous confusion on the bowl of porridge in front of him. "What...?"

"It's Tsampa," Jason explains. Terry is only feeling slightly hateful that Jason sounds nearly chipper after a night of nearly no sleep and no coffee seemingly anywhere in a fifty mile radius. "Nomad food. It's filling—and not bad at all. There's butter tea as well."

"Ah. Great." Kal grins, his smile bright like the sun. "I did say that I wanted to try something new. The dinner last night was delicious—I may have to come back here some time."

Jason makes a non-committal noise as he sips his tea. After a moment of silence, his eyes slip sideways over to Terry. "I need to continue searching for those killers. I promised my acquaintance in Japan."

Terry nods, hearing all that is unsaid underneath that sentence. "Good luck. I think the Bat-Wing is fixed by now anyway..."

Jason hides a smirk behind the tea cup. Terry sees the questioning look on Superman's face and wonders briefly if the hero is using his x-ray vision.

The three men leave the quiet inn and trudge through the snow, the morning sun making the air slightly more tolerable than it had been the previous night.

"I'm not coming back to Gotham. Not any time soon," Jason whispers, his tone the same flatness and hidden implication that it had been at breakfast. "But I'll let you know... if I'm ever nearby."

"Okay," Terry whispers back. "It... It was good seeing you. Take care of yourself. And I hope you don't have to fight any metas soon."

Jason snorts. "No kidding." He grabs his bike and gives a half-sarcastic salute to the Man of Steel before he roars off, his bike steaming exhaust into the frigid air. Terry lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"So..." Superman's voice is soft, but there's a slight edge to it, "was the Bat-Wing actually broken?"

Terry winces. "Uh... define broken?"

Kal lets out an exhausted sigh. "You know, you didn't have to lie. You could have just said..." he trails off for a moment, frowning.

"Yeah,  _that's_  kind of why I lied. What exactly was I supposed to say?"

"I'm not sure," Superman admits. "But it would have been nice to have some warning. You're lucky I figured out what those noises were—I was a fraction of a second away from bursting downstairs and through the door because I thought Jason was hurting you."

Terry's face lights up in a brilliant blush. "Uh... thanks for not? I was, uh, fine."

"Yes. I did gather that after a moment. You're quite vocal." Terry didn't think his face could get any redder. Nope. Not at all. "By the way, you  _did_  use protection, didn't you?"

"Oh, geeze!" Nope, apparently his face could get redder. A lot, in fact. "Yes! Ugh, God, that is officially on the list of 'things I never wanted to hear Superman say. Ever.'"

Kal's lips purse together in what is a near-smirk. When he speaks, his voice is light and teasing. "Are you going to be okay flying the Bat-Wing home? That's a several hour trip, even at top speed. Several hours of  _sitting_."

"You're actually enjoying messing with me, aren't you?"

"A bit," he admits. "The situation put me in an awkward position. This teasing is just slightly returning the favor. And speaking of awkward…" Superman's eyes turn serious again, his jaw set—Terry is momentarily grateful that this doesn't seem to be a set up for a "position" joke. "Just so you know, I won't lie to him. We're friends and there's a lot of years of trust between us. I won't necessarily offer information either, but if Bruce asks anything…"

"I know," Terry sighs. "Don't worry. I won't be lying either. We've done that dance—if Bruce asks about anything directly, I'll be honest."

"Okay then," Kal sighs, slipping back into a smile. "So… you and Jason?"

"Not really," Terry sighs as he clicks the security code to open the Bat-Wing's roof. "It was just… a connection. Nothing deep or serious. We just have some things in common."

"I see." Superman looks out at the mountains for a moment, the sun glistening on the snow. "It really is beautiful here, isn't it?"

Terry follows Kal's gaze, trying not to let his eyes linger on the tracks that Jason's bike has left in the snow. "Yeah, it is."

Superman nods. The snow swirls beneath him as he starts to hover, his boots leaving the ground and dispelling any illusion of his normal mortality. "Travel safely, Terry."

"You too," Terry says as he slips into the cockpit. They nod at each other one more time before the windows close and Terry is enclosed in black lines and red lights.

 _[[Terry?]]_  Bruce's voice crackles over the newly turned on computer _. [[That took longer than expected. Are you okay? Did you find Luthor?]]_

"Yeah, Bruce," Terry sighs, thumbing the controls. The engine hums, warms. "We didn't get much from Luthor, but…" Terry spares one more glance out at the sun and the snow. "Everything's fine... I'm coming home."

.

The man known as Doctor Geboren adjusts the frequency of the nano-scope, watching with bated breath as the seconds tick by. Another two minutes, and the bots will have bonded to the sample DNA for a record time of three days and seventeen hours. It's nowhere near enough, but it's a start. The Wayne-Tech and StarLabs nano research is clearly advanced—far beyond what any other research company has created and studied—but it is still not enough for what the master needs.

Behind him, Geboren hears the hollow, whistling sound of the master breathing. It sounds sickly, almost ghost-like in it's empty faintness. The master doesn't have long for this world—not if Geboren can't do what he was asked to do, not if he can't work a medical miracle.

There... two minutes have passed. The nano-tech stays bonded.

"It  _works_..." the voice sounds like crinkling paper, dry and brittle. Geboren nods.

"As much as it can with an incomplete sample. To go further, I am going to need the boy that you've chosen."

The master nods beneath his cloak. "I will send a team to Gotham to retrieve him. You will have him on your table within a week, doctor."

"Yes, m'lord." Geboren watches as the frail man who once moved mountains and destroyed empires trembles slightly. The cloaked figure makes his way toward the lab's large glass window. The sun is high over the Himalayas and the snow is shockingly white, and—for a moment—he stares out over the mountains like the ruler he once was, as if everything in his view is for the taking. Then the figure coughs, doubles over, and presses thin and decaying fingers against the glass.  _My poor master,_ Geboren thinks. There is not much time left. He must work his hardest and make the nano-technology bond.

After all, Ra's Al Ghul must be returned to his former glory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of this short story! Another arc next


End file.
